


Cold

by AtypicalAntinomy



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Series, i'm so bad at tagging i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:18:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtypicalAntinomy/pseuds/AtypicalAntinomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qrow feels cold just being next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first work here and also my first RWBY fanfic, so I may or may not being super-tense in this moment.  
> Quick shoutout to [chickenhero](http://chickenhero.tumblr.com) who took the time to translate this mess from Italian to English. I'd be lost without her, honestly.

It's _cold_.

And he doesn't even mean the metal brushing against his skin; it's the room, the sheets, the bodies lying on the same bed but back against back as if they were strangers that are cold.

With half-lidded eyes, focused on the attempt to distinguish the contours of an oppressing darkness, Qrow feels a too heavy of a weight in the middle of his chest to be able to sleep. One hand is hidden under the pillow, the other is gripping painfully on the pillowcase, and every thought gets more and more difficult to ignore.

Because it gets more difficult to ignore _his_ ignoring, his distancing himself, his so damn obvious escaping from his attempts to put back together anything that was lost in those months of silence and absence, of jobs and missions that couldn't be avoided. As a matter of fact, he's pretty sure he can even go further, he can point out the source of that gelid coldness in the moment in which he saw him opening his eyes again after what seemed like ages of pure, piercing agony.

When he still thought that he had to give him space, he had to wait for him to get used to life again, that it was understandable to want to distance himself when his body was - and still is - reduced in such a state.

But he doesn't even have the energy to blame himself, he's aware by now that the fault is not on his way of dealing with the issue at all.

He knows that he was there for him when he most needed him, and he knows that he wasn't only when his presence was not welcome.

There's no more guilt in his heart: he hates to admit it, but the weight that he feels, day after day, silence after silence, is becoming _resentment_.

Resentment, because he's distant.

Resentment, because he's treated with such haughty arrogance.

Resentment, because he doesn't allow him to touch him, caress him, love him like he always did, as if what brought them together wasn't as much a feeling as it was an agreement.

Resentment, because he's witnessing a change as uselessly sudden as it is damn stupid.

James Ironwood is not a man anymore; he's no different from the machines he's so proud of, those chunks of metal so intelligent but devoid of any feeling.

Qrow sighs in the silence, feeling his own lips curving up bitterly.

"Jimmy."

He feels him move. He's probably still awake.

"Is the heart on the right side or on the left side?"

He looks over his shoulder: the first thing he sees, like a sudden reflection of light, is the vigilant and stern flicker of his eyes, which has no effect on him but to press even harder on his exhausted nerves.

"The heart is in the middle, Qrow. It only slightly shifts to the left, if I have to be precise."

So there actually _is_ a heart still beating in that box of skin and metal? He turns his back to him as he feels his smile definitively fading away.

" ... you know, I never would have guessed."


End file.
